A Cure To Boredom
by Ismira Daugene
Summary: Sherlock is bored and begins shooting the wall.  John finds another way to preoccupy him.  PWP, AU, Slash, M/M


**A Cure To Bordom**

**by: Ismira Daugene**

**A/N: **WARNING: There is explicit sexual content in this story. If you are underage or offended by sexual acts please skip this story. To those of you who decide to continue, don't say I didn't warn you.

**o O o O o O o**

John walked unhurriedly down Baker Street, his arms laden down with grocery bags as well as one bag filled with Chinese take-away. When he'd left the flat, Sherlock had been busy typing away at his computer… and by his, he meant John's own computer. Sherlock, despite his amazing observational powers, couldn't seem to distinguish between the two PC's. Either that or he didn't consider it important which computer he used; so long as it was able to do what he wanted… the ends justifying the means and all that.

Crossing the street, John could see the flat… and hear the distinct ringing of a gunshot. His heart stopped for a moment and he sprinted the rest of the way, not worrying if any items spilled from the bags as he threw the door open and rushed up the stairs. The bags fell from his arms the second before he opened the door when he reached for the gun stuffed in the band of his trousers. It didn't seem to matter where he went now-a-days, he always had his revolver. For Sherlock just seemed to attract trouble. "Sherlock!" he called out as he burst in expecting to find a dark figure standing over his flatmate, a smoking gun in his hands.

However the sight that met him instead was that of Sherlock stretched out on the couch, a revolver smoking in his hand, and a bullet hole through a smiley face painted on the wall. "John," he greeted in a flat voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" John asked, the adrenaline still coursing through his body making him jumpy.

"Bored!" was Sherlock's only response.

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush, John marched closer to the brooding dark haired man and pointed angrily at the bullet hole. "And shooting inanimate objects will help?" Sherlock gave John a look that clearly said '_Piss off_', but John persisted. "You're lucky Mrs. Hudson's visiting her sister. Lord only knows the conniption she'd have…" he trailed off as he grabbed the gun laying loose in Sherlock's grip. Holding it by the barrel, he waved threateningly. "No more shooting in the flat," he admonished.

Turning to put the revolver away, he heard Sherlock let out a snort of derision. John ignored him though and continued out to the landing where he'd dropped the bags of groceries and dinner. A couple tins of beans were dented, but everything else had survived the fall. Relieved that he wouldn't have to go back to Texco for more milk, John brought the bags into the kitchen where he proceeded to put things away, studiously avoiding the cupboards he'd designated as storage for Sherlock's experiments. A shuffling along the floorboards announced Sherlock's arrival a few minutes later, but John didn't acknowledge him and continued setting the table for dinner.

"John," he murmured. John grunted, but didn't look up. "John, I don't mean to cause trouble for you." He paused. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't blame you for the bullet hole in her wall… or the paint, but you must admit that it is quite boring around here, especially when you go to the store or the surgery."

John glanced up finally to see that Sherlock was leaning against the fridge. His dark hair was mussed and hanging down nearly in his eyes. His hands were tucked in his robe's pockets, and his bare feet were extremely pale against the dark hardwood floor. "Why don't you do something then? Go outside, read, ask Lestrade for a new case."

Sherlock's look of disgust at the suggestion of _asking_ for a new case stopped John from making other suggestions along the same nature. "Fine, but you could still go outside, take a walk, read a book!"

"Boring… all of it!" he exclaimed, his tall frame slumping even more against the fridge.

"Well shooting Mrs. Hudson's walls is not going to help! We're not going to have a security deposit soon and we'll have to start paying for repairs ourselves!" Sherlock's look turned downward and John felt slightly bad for yelling at him. Heaving out a sigh, he swept a hand back through his short sandy hair. "Sometimes I wish I had a Babelfish," he muttered.

Curiosity caused Sherlock's head to pop back up. "A what?"

"A Babelfish… you know… _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_?"

"John…" He gave the shorter man a look that said '_You know that pop culture references are not important enough to be saved_'.

"Right… um… a Babelfish is from the book _A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ and it's used to translate things inside a person's head."

"And why would you think you'd need one?"

"I don't know, to understand you sometimes? You're bloody impossible at times!"

The two flatmates stood silently in the kitchen, neither one worried about the fact that their take-away was getting cold. "All you ever need do is ask, John," Sherlock said quietly looking the other man up and down.

"Yeah," John scoffed. "And be ridiculed for not understanding something that so naturally occurs in that brilliant mind of yours."

Sherlock stepped forward, moving around the table that was between them. "I don't seem to mind as much when you ask."

John looked up then into Sherlock's face which was suddenly much closer than he'd anticipated causing John to stumble backwards into the counter. Sherlock continued forward still, putting himself squarely in front of John and solidly in his personal space. "W-why?" John stuttered. "Why don't you mind?"

"Because you're… different," Sherlock replied.

"How am I different?"

"You don't cast me aside as some freak like Sergeant Donovan and Anderson do. You treat me like… like a person."

"Lestrade respects you as a person," John pointed out.

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "He tolerates me because I'm useful to him. You," he paused as he raised his hand to cover John's which was gripping the counter behind him tightly. "You care about what happens to me, more so than just because you need my expertise on a case." Sherlock took another step forward, stopping when he was just close enough that any movement would have them touching.

"Sherlock…" John whispered raggedly. He'd never been this close to another man before and he was surprised at his physical reactions. His breathing was coming in short gasps, every muscle in his body was tense, his heart was hammering away in his chest, and he so desperately wanted to reach out and pull Sherlock the rest of the way forward until their bodies were pressed together. He wanted to feel Sherlock's body heat against his own body and he wanted to press his nose into the curve of his neck where neck and shoulder met and taste the skin there. He had the distinct impression that the unique scent Sherlock had mixed with salt and sweat would be divine. "I – I don't think…"

"What don't you think, John?" Sherlock whispered in a velvet voice that nearly caused John's knees to give out on him.

John was sure that his pupils were fully dilated now just as Sherlock's were. What little space there was between them seemed like an ocean. The one point of contact, Sherlock's hand over John's on the counter, seared with heat and sent tingles up and down John's arm. John sucked in a ragged breath before letting it back out. Sherlock smirked at him, a devilish look that oddly enough made John want to cover Sherlock's mouth with his own. "I deduce, Doctor Watson, that you are feeling something you've never felt before." He squeezed John's hand. "_This_ may not be my area, but I can still read the physical signs you're giving off, and I don't think you'd mind if I did _this_," he thrust his hips forward, letting them make contact with John's before retreating again.

John let out a low moan at the contact and had to restrain himself from thrusting back. Despite what his body was telling him, John knew that going through with what Sherlock was implying would have consequences. Could they continue just being friends afterward? Hell, he wasn't sure they could continue being just friends after _this_. John's thoughts were racing around in circles and conclusions were not forth coming when Sherlock thrust forward again. _To hell with the consequences_, he thought and reached out with his free hand to pull Sherlock forward. His mouth sought the curve of Sherlock's neck while his hips ground against the taller man's. Sherlock, surprised by the sudden onslaught of heat and lust, groaned and wrapped both arms around John's torso.

He wanted to kiss John back, but John seemed intensely determined to taste every bit of his neck. And while that was quite pleasing in and of itself, he was going to lose his mind if John kept at it much longer. So he let his hands wander down John's back until they were resting over his rump. Squeezing slightly as a warning, he suddenly lifted John up and sat him on the counter. John gasped and stopped suckling at Sherlock's neck. Sherlock stepped in between John's spread legs, his hands pulling John forward until he was on the edge of the counter and their pelvises were grinding together like two teenagers making out in a closet.

Sherlock pressed his mouth down on John's, his tongue tracing along John's lips until the blond opened for him and then they fought for dominance. Several long minutes later, John broke the kiss gasping for air. "Oh god, Sherlock," he moaned. "We can't… not like this."

"Why not?"

"Not the first time… please."

Sherlock relented and stopped grinding his hips into John's, causing the shorter man to whimper despite he being the one to stop everything. "How do you propose we proceed then?" Sherlock growled, clearly eager to resume their activities.

"Bed… proper…" was all John got out before Sherlock grabbed hold of him and lifted him off the counter, carrying him towards Sherlock's bedroom.

"Put me down!" John shouted, writhing against the taller man. Sherlock was either stronger than he appeared or the adrenaline rush was at its peak just now.

"John, you'd best stop that before I drop you and ravage you here and now in the hallway," he groaned.

John stilled, realizing just how much he'd been grinding against Sherlock. When Sherlock reached his bedroom, he kicked the door open and practically threw John on the bed before covering John's shorter frame with his own taller lanky one. Their mouths met again and fingers traveled down Sherlock's chest, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. With non-verbal urgings, Sherlock managed to strip John of his sweater and undershirt. Their bare chests rubbing against each other caused both to moan loudly. Sherlock then unbuttoned John's trousers and one hand squeezed in between their bodies to grip his length tightly. "Oh… oh, Sherlock!" John moaned. "Please!"

"What do you want, John," Sherlock asked, using his other hand to pluck at John's now extended nipples.

"Please, Sherlock!"

"Please what, John?"

"I want you… every centimeter! Now!"

Sherlock stripped himself and John of their trousers and shorts with quick precision that if John had been able to, would have appreciated for his thoroughness. However the next moment, everything in John's head suddenly flew out as Sherlock wrapped his naked body possessively around John's. A tube of lubricant was suddenly in Sherlock's hand. John didn't have time to wonder where it came from before two fingers were probing at his tight hole. He jerked his hips in response and Sherlock slid his fingers inside, scissoring them to help prepare John. "Sherlock!" John moaned. "Oh… oh…"

"Just a little more," Sherlock replied, adding a third finger while his other hand continued to tweak John's nipples.

John's own hands were far from unoccupied. One was gripping Sherlock's arm tightly and the other was woven into the dark mop of hair between his legs. "John," Sherlock grumbled, a slight question in the single syllable.

"Yes, please… now… do it."

Sherlock nodded and placed a couple of throw pillows under John's derriere before positioning himself and gently pressing forward. John gasped at the sudden intrusion, but reminded himself to relax. His tight sphincter muscle loosened just enough to allow Sherlock to press forward even more. Pain shot through John and he took deep breaths to relax himself further. "Should I continue?" Sherlock asked from above him in a strained voice.

"Yes… please," John whispered.

Sherlock started moving again until he was fully seated inside John then stopped again, fighting the urge to pull out and slam back in. John breathed deeply, letting himself adjust to the feeling of Sherlock's length (which was not insubstantial at all!) inside him. Soon he was itching to feel friction though. He needed it, craved it… and thrust his hips a bit to indicate that Sherlock should move. "John…" Sherlock grumbled and started to move in and out at a slow pace. The third time he thrust back in, he hit that bundle of nerves inside John that made John squirm with pleasure. "Oh, Sherlock! Faster! Please!" John demanded.

"Yes, John…. Yes, yes!" he moved with more force now, hitting John's prostate every second or third thrust.

All coherent thought was lost to them both and only animalistic lust remained as they rutted against each other. Sherlock reached between them to grip John's length firmly, stroking up and down. It was only a matter of minutes before they were both gasping, sweat covered, and trembling from holding back their release. "Now, John, now!"

And with that they both fell apart. Sherlock stilled inside John with his orgasm while John released sticky fluid all over their fronts. They sat still for a moment simply breathing until Sherlock pulled out, causing John to groan again. Now that the high of the orgasm was waning, the ache in his rear was becoming more prominent. However he didn't mind. In fact, he would have to say that the pain was a very agreeable exchange for what had just happened. Turning on his side, John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and looked at the flushed face before him. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said.

John's look of surprise was closely followed by the question, "Why?"

"I didn't intend for things to go this far. However when I found how your body reacted to mine, I couldn't seem to stop."

"Sherlock…"

"I shouldn't have let myself get carried away."

"Sherlock!" The dark haired man looked up. "You don't need to apologize. I'm not sorry about what we did."

"You're not?"

John grinned. "No, I'm not. In fact, I don't think I'd object to doing it again." Sherlock's expression brightened. "After a couple of days rest though," John quickly added. "I'm pretty sure I won't be able to sit properly at all tomorrow." He grimaced.

Sherlock grinned; a smile that clearly said he wasn't sorry about that, but then it faltered and concern crossed his visage. "You won't want to be leaving then? This doesn't scare you? I mean, you have just had sexual intercourse with another man."

"Sherlock, I had sex with _you_. And it's not like I was attached to anyone."

"Not even Sarah from the surgery?"

"No, we're just friends. She isn't really my type… of course, now I think I know _why_ she isn't my type." He grinned again as he met Sherlock's eyes. They both started to chuckle.

"Yes, and it would explain several things I'd been wondering."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, I'd begun to wonder if you were just asexual."

"Are you joking?" John looked incredulous.

"Not at all. You hadn't shown much interest in women, and aside from that first time at Angelo's…"

"_That_ was not me asking you out!" John protested. Sherlock merely grinned. "It wasn't! I was simply trying to get to know you."

Sherlock ignored him and went back to his original question. "Back to the topic, John. This doesn't scare you?"

"No. In fact… it kind of feels… right. Like it's supposed to be." John took in the still worried look on Sherlock's face. "Why are you worried I'll leave?"

"It's nothing," he deferred.

"No, Sherlock, it is something. Why are you worried? We've been through a lot together and this is one more aspect of it, albeit a pleasant one. I – I like you… a lot, and have no intention of leaving."

"For now…"

John sat up a bit, propping himself up with one arm. He was beginning to form a theory, but he needed confirmation. "Did someone do that to you, Sherlock? Leave you?" Sherlock didn't answer and dropped his gaze. "Did they do what I just did with you then leave?"

"It doesn't matter, John. It's in the past."

"No it's not. If it's still affecting what you do and think today, then it's not in the past. However we'd best put it there, because I want there to be no doubt in your mind that I will stay with you. You Sherlock are an intelligent, wonderful, amazing human being who happens to be very good at sex." He smirked down at Sherlock who was now blushing. "Why would I _ever_ leave that?"

Sherlock hazarded a look back up at John. What he saw in that open and honest face was enough to placate his fears. There was just something in the way John looked at him that hinted at 'forever'. Sherlock smiled and reached up to pull John down and kiss him. He pressed their lips together passionately, holding on to John's head with one hand and roaming down his chest with the other. He tweaked a nipple and John gasped allowing Sherlock's tongue to forge entry. John's hands were resting on Sherlock's shoulders, squeezing and releasing with the intensity of the kiss. Sherlock's hand dipped lower and John suddenly pulled back. "What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Saying thank you."

"But we just…"

"And yet you're already growing hard," Sherlock smirked, running a hand down the semi-erect length of John's growing member.

Needless to say, the Chinese take-away had to be re-heated… much, much later that night.

**o O o O o O o**

**A/N:** Woo… that was a trip. This isn't the first time I've attempted something like this, but it is the first time I think I've done fairly well. However I suppose that is up to you, the readers. There won't be more to this story, it was just a one-shot. It actually was not intended to be smutty at all, but then stuff started happening and I was like, 'whoa… that's not where I wanted to go', but went with it anyway. So… you can thank the rampant plot bunnies for this lovely scene. Feel free to let me know where I can improve! I'm always looking for ways to do so.

_Sherlock_ (c) BBC & Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy_ (c) Douglas Adams


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